Point of No Return
by give.me.money
Summary: When the commando Bayman is assigned a new mission unlike any previously, his destiny and that of the world become irrevocably entwined. Rated M for violence, language, and sexual themes.
1. Prologue

Author's note:

This is your usual disclaimer that runs before the start of a story that no one pays attention to, or if they have one of the good DVD players, skips ahead to the good part of the movie, but I still have to put up here or the feds will eat me in my sleep.

I am not Tecmo. I do not own any portion of the _Dead Or Alive_ franchise, either as designer, creator, or stockholder. I do not stake any claim to the _Dead Or Alive Battle System_ or _the Dead Or Alive Multi-Tiered Stage_ trademark. None of the principal characters portrayed in this fanfiction, with the exception of two author-created characters (TBA), are my creative property, and it is therefore the prerogative of Tecmo, Inc., what really happens. At no point is this fanfiction intended as a challenge to the copyrights and trademarks of the _Dead Or Alive_ franchise and Tecmo, Inc.

Now, on with the show, named suspiciously like a Jean-Claude Van Damme film..

Point of No Return

Prologue

_Rwanda_

The sun fell slowly across the African landscape, illuminating a solitary gazelle in its ochre glare. Turning its head, the gazelle bounded away, fleeing from the sound of a sputtering diesel engine. A rusted metal troop transport vehicle puttered along the makeshift road, its passengers solemnly silent, only breaking their vigil to spit off the side of the automobile. The driver cursed to himself as the path rounded a bend and led straight into the setting sun. Slamming on the brakes, the driver slammed the wheel with an ebon hand. An acacia tree had fallen across the road, and there was no way to drive around it. Engaging the emergency brake, the driver stepped out of the cab and shouted orders to his passengers. Grumbling, half a dozen militiamen in tattered fatigues got out of the truck and jogged to the front of the truck, where the tree blocked the pathway. Gathering around the trunk, the soldiers began to drag the tree out of the road. A muted chirp sounded, and one of the soldiers slumped forward, his scalp drenched in blood. Several more chirps sounded in rapid succession, and the rest of the soldiers gathered around the tree collapsed, missing internal organs. In the back of the truck, a soldier shouted impatiently to his compatriots up front. As his words echoed across the savanna, the clink of metal on metal at his feet brought his attention back to the truck. Another clink sounded, and two fragmentation grenades rolled around on the truck bed. Soldiers began to shout and scramble to their feet, but the grenades detonated, sending metallic death in every direction. The military transport, which once held troops two dozen strong, now held not one live soul.

Surveying the carnage with a practiced eye, Bayman replaced the clip on his silenced rifle and dug his motorbike out of its brush camouflage. Slinging the firearm across his back, he began the long trek back to civilization.

"The reinforcements won't be coming any time soon. The road is also blocked." Bayman took his money from the shivering tribal elder, and left without another word. It was pathetic. The Tutsi elders had decided that they needed a secret weapon to even the odds against the Huttu tribe, and had hired him. Of course, they couldn't afford to pay him for more than one mission, and now that they had upped the ante, they were doomed against the larger, wealthier tribe. Bayman snorted with disgust as he motored out of the country. Once he was a high-profile operative. His name on an assignment was one of the highest laurels possible. Now, he was fading out. Bayman chuckled to himself. He might even end up like that old fart Leon. The plane flight out of Africa was a sobering four hours.

_Russia_

Back in Novgorod, Bayman opened the door to his modest flat, old habits causing him to glance behind as he closed the door behind him. His apartment was still the way he had left it. His wall of firearms was still in perfect order, minus the weapons he had brought with him on assignment. His vintage chess set was still set up, with the game timer still wound. And at his feet was a pile of mail. Sifting through it, Bayman sighed with boredom. The same old things. Advertisements for outlet stores. Offers for credit cards. Utilities bills. And a small envelope, whose return address was only a lipstick imprint of a kiss. Dropping the other papers, Bayman tore open the envelope. It contained a handwritten letter that smelled alluringly of perfume.

_Nikolai, darling_

_I really must see you now. We haven't spoken for years, but I really must __talk to you now, before I go insane. Come to me in Sicily. I've told my driver __all about you, he'll be waiting for you to arrive. I'll wait for you here._

_Ilyana_

Lowering the letter, Bayman suppressed both a chuckle and a grimace. All these years, and she still thought she could summon him like a pet hound? Shaking his head, Bayman headed towards his wall of firearms. It was just as well. He hadn't unpacked yet.

_Sicily_

Bayman impatiently waited on the seaside terrace as Ilyana's driver went inside to fetch his mistress. Out of his fatigues and into this suit, he felt off-guard and out of place. Staring out over the Mediterranean, he nudged his breast pocket concealed holster to make sure it was still there. Ilyana's voice behind him forestalled any more fidgeting.

"You can relax here, Nikolai." Turning around, Bayman had to fight to keep his eyes on Ilyana's face. She was dressed in a slinky, form-fitting dress that tugged at the eye. Apparently noticing his internal struggle, Ilyana winked slowly at him, then sat down and beckoned him to join her. Bayman did so, uncomfortably. Staring at him sidelong, Ilyana began.

"Nikolai, I need you here because our superiors have some very important plans." _That's got to be it._ Bayman suddenly understood the motives behind this meeting. _She really needs to use every tool she's got to lure me in_. He turned his attention back to the topic at hand, to hear her continue. "The top brass have requested that all agents return for active duty in the upcoming operation. I was the only operative who knew where you were." Ilyana's sultry veneer melted off as she got down to business.

"Top Brass is coordinating a massive operation that will require all of our top operatives back in the field again. The critical information is contained in this dossier." Ilyana snapped her fingers, and a servant appeared with a thick manila folder, which was passed to Bayman. Opening it, Bayman shielded the contents with his hand, and read:

OPERATION BOGATYR

Team Alpha will advance to Location 1 (Supplied Map A) stowed inside a sanitation vehicle (Transport 1). Once at the target objective, Team Alpha will set up in position to provide diversion for Team Beta's actions at Location 2 (Supplied Map B). On Team Beta's signal, Team Alpha will open fire to provide maximum diversion until Team Beta has obtained Object A (On Supplied Map B). Team Alpha will then stage fighting retreat, and withdraw to a mail truck (Transport 2). All forces will withdraw and return to Eagle's Nest.

Bayman thumbed through the rest of the dossier text, skimming through the tactical chaff. At the maps, however, his hand froze. The map marked "Location 2" was laid out with surgical precision, with two rings of defensive structures around the quonset hut marked with a radioactive symbol and the blueprints for mobile missile launchers. The map for "Location 1" was a set of schematics for the Munich Opera House, with diagrams marking major checkpoints and routes of access and egress.

Bayman looked over to Ilyana, who returned his surprised stare with one of faint disdain.

"What's wrong, Nikolai? Haven't you ever performed in operations below the belt?" Bayman tossed the dossier onto the table.

"That was different, Ilyana. We killed people just like us out in the middle of the desert. We didn't mow down hundreds of civilians in cold blood." Ilyana raised an eyebrow quizzically, then reached for a glass of wine.

"That's who we are, Nikolai. We are murderers. I hear you just returned from aiding a tribal struggle in Africa. Not very noble today, are we?" Bayman picked up the dossier and pointed to the map of the military base.

"And are we now thieves, as well? Is the motherland so hungry that she must steal another country's nuclear weapons?" Ilyana froze, the glass halfway to her lips. Setting the vessel down, she stared coldly at Bayman.

"I do not dictate the will of the motherland, Bayman. I only enforce it. And I warn you: If you have not reported for duty in under one week, there will be nothing I can do to save you." Ilyana's eyes softened as she stared up at Bayman.

"Ilyana, I have been a murderer all my life. I believe that now, just this once, I will be a warrior." Bayman stiffly walked off the terrace like a soldier leaving a military tribunal. As he left, Ilyana's eyes followed, welling up.

"Nikolai, what have you done?"

End Prologue

Author's note:

And the story gets off to a roaring start like the beginning of a contest between two narcoleptic racehorses! I promise, I will include many more characters to this epic. However, to begin the story, we need to start things slow.

Please R&R! And remember this, I will probably flame you nastier than your flame to me, so save us both some time and don't do it. Constructive criticism is respectfully begged for, however.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's note:

This is your usual disclaimer that runs before the start of a story that no one pays attention to, or if they have one of the good DVD players, skips ahead to the good part of the movie, but I still have to put up here or the feds will eat me in my sleep.

I am not Tecmo. I do not own any portion of the _Dead Or Alive_ franchise, either as designer, creator, or stockholder. I do not stake any claim to the _Dead Or Alive Battle System_ or _the Dead Or Alive Multi-Tiered Stage_ trademark. None of the principal characters portrayed in this fanfiction, with the exception of two author-created characters (TBA), are my creative property, and it is therefore the prerogative of Tecmo, Inc., what really happens. At no point is this fanfiction intended as a challenge to the copyrights and trademarks of the _Dead Or Alive_ franchise and Tecmo, Inc.

Now, on with the show, named suspiciously like a Jean-Claude Van Damme film.

Point of No Return

Chapter 1

The twilight sun shone down the streets of Tokyo, silhouetting a bulky figure swathed in a trenchcoat as it slunk down a deserted side street. Inside the coat, Bayman's frame bristled with nervous tension. Three days after that fateful meeting in Sicily with Ilyana, he had felt a pair of strange invisible eyes peering over his shoulder, watching his every move. Now, here in Tokyo, he needed to search, to find a pair of familiar eyes, someone to help him. Someone to help him stop the Operation.

Eyes sliding along the dead storefronts, Bayman's trained eye zeroed in on the faint light of an oil-lamp in the back of an old antique shop. The Sign swaying in the wind above read "Masamune's Forge". For some odd reason, the name rung a bell deep in his mind. Checking the streets, Bayman trotted across to the shop and tested the door. Inside, a dark figure got up from the floor beside the lamp and trotted over, as a young man's voice called out "Come in!". Bayman quickly accepted the invitation and slipped inside.

The store indoors was just as dark as outside. However, the apparent owner of the establishment struck a match and brought it to the wick of hurricane lamp, illuminating the interior. The proprietor, a brawny young man with a long brown ponytail, affixed the lamp to a ceiling lamp as he surveyed his customer. Then a flicker of recognition shot through the man's eyes. Ryu Hayabusa's eyes narrowed to slits as he spat the words out. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here." Bayman took a step back, then advanced with both hands raised, palms open.

"Relax, shinobi. I'm here on important bus-" Hayabusa vanished in a puff of leaves, his shout from the other direction Bayman's only clue as to his whereabouts. Pivoting on his heel, Bayman threw out his hands only barely in time to catch the ninja's foot coming from behind. Swinging the foot up in the air, Bayman threw a vicious punch into a swirling puff of bamboo leaves. Hayabusa appeared on the ground in front of him, ringed by leaves again. Bayman reluctantly put his fists up, all the while protesting.

"I'm not here to fight you, shinobi!" Hayabusa snorted in disgust, setting his feet for the attack.

"No more lies, Russian!" Hayabusa sprung in the air towards Bayman, only to cry out in surprise and redirect himself in midair towards the back of the store, tumbling to the back. Looking toward the storefront, Bayman saw only blank window. Then a pair of fragmentation grenades crashed through the window and bounced over the front display case. Bayman turned, the world in slow motion, and dove for the back, one mantra repeating itself in his head. _Oh, Fuck. Oh, Fuck. Oh, Fuck._

Bayman hit the deck an instant before the grenades went off. Rolling to his feet, the Russian whipped out a knife from its ankle sheath and ducked behind a shelf, grabbing an eyeful of the scene of carnage up front. Three men and two women, all clad in black jumpsuits and kevlar padding, surveyed the store and awkwardly hefted sub-machine guns. As Bayman planned his next move, he overheard one of the women talk to the other.

"Did we get him?" There was an exasperated sigh, and an older, more experienced voice responded.

"You are serious? We are hunting one of the greatest agents ever to fight for the motherland, and you ask if we caught him with a simple pair of grenades? Of course not! Now shut up and fan out."

The sound of glass breaking under heavy boot tread served to pinpoint position as well as a giant flag. Bayman waited until he heard a man's steps about to round the corner, then silently met the man's sternum with a knifepoint. The operative's death-moan was stifled by Bayman's hand, but the man's finger clamped shut on the trigger, sending a cascade of muffled chirps into the wall behind Bayman. The older woman's voice could be heard, until Hayabusa's Battle Cry rang out on the other side and the cacophony of four silenced sub-machine guns could be heard. Cutting through the store, Bayman's knife bisected the last man's neck as the palm of Ryu's hand landed with surgical precision in the center of the older woman's throat. The other two operatives lay with limbs and necks at inhuman angles. As Ryu removed his hand and let the woman fall, Bayman noticed with a shudder that the ninja did not have a scratch on him. Turning to the bulky Russian, Ryu folded his arms and looked him coolly in the eye.

"It's not common for one of the country's greatest warriors to be hunted by his own comrades in arms. You have one minute." Bayman nodded grateful thanks and began his story.

When Bayman finished, Ryu still stood there, arms folded and with his curious look replaced by one of admiration.

"That reminds me of a certain kunoichi I know, only with much more reason." Chuckling to himself, Ryu began drag the bodies to the back of his store. "So where's your gun? I thought you were an enthusiast even among professionals?" Bayman shrugged and pointed to the streets outside.

"It's Japan. I wanted as little reminder of my presence in the country. Last thing I want is to be caught with a firearm while on the run." Grabbing another body, Ryu paused to survey the damage to his storefront windowpane.

"Why are you here then? Why Japan?" Bayman hefted a dislodged shelf back into place.

"I've been fighting the best warriors in the world for two years. Those competitors were the first who came into my mind. Most of you reside in Japan. At least, the only ones besides Leon I would trust to remain professional and cool during any sort of operation where the requirements are more than screaming and kicking people." Ryu coughed politely and suppressed a smirk. Both remembered the loud and passionate fighter Jann Lee from the tournament, and neither had developed a good impression of the young man. Replacing a row of handcarved miniature elephant figurines, he turned back to Bayman.

"How long is the window of opportunity?" Bayman pursed his lips grimly.

"A week and two days. The operation will occur during a performance of a Mozart Opera in Munich, Germany." Ryu's brows rose quizzically. "Mozart was a national hero and a worldwide legendary composer. Any of his operas playing in Germany will be sold out." Ryu's eyes darkened as the implications struck home. The ninja lost no time in pulling various weapons off the shelves and gathering them in a pile in the back.

"Very well then. I will return to the ninja clans in the mountains. Mayhap my good friend, now that he remembers who he is, will remember who I am. Where will we meet?" Bayman nodded thoughtfully before responding.

"We will meet at the international airport in casual dress two hours before curtain opens. Act like a tourist in the third Food Court. Leon and I will meet you there." The ninja said nothing, merely gathered the pile of weapons that was accumulating on the floor, and slipped away silently into the night with a two-fingered salute.

" I told you, old friend, my answer is no." Ryu paced about the floor of Hayate's home, as the Mugen Tenshin leader sat with arms crossed at his seat. Ryu turned to Hayate again, arms open wide in appeal.

"Hayate, do you truly understand the magnitude of the operation that is to be performed? The first stage involves the theft of a Thermonuclear warhead!" Hayate sat coolly at his seat, eyes focussed on the young ninja training down the hill. If he had heard his friend's outburst, he gave no outward sign. After a few seconds, Hayate changed his focus back to his old friend indoors.

"Ryu, it is obvious that the ways of the Hayabusa differ from those of the Mugen Tenshin. The mantle of leadership changes many things. Were it only my welfare I had to look out for, I would have left with you already. However, what you ask is too much to risk for a threat that has not appeared yet. I cannot send any of our ninjas on a wild-goose chase across the globe on the hearsay of a friend. The clan must take precedence." Hayate closed his eyes and resumed his meditations, ending the discussion. Ryu took the hint, and without a word, leapt out the open doorway. As he flitted from tree to tree across the valley, Ryu's eyes took in the idyllic village beneath him. _I only hope you are right, old friend. This is too beautiful to last._

Bayman raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glaring Mediterranean sun as he walked down the boat's gangwalk onto the beach. The presence of concealed firearms on his body was a soothing balm that almost washed away the days being trailed, gunless in Japan. Strolling up toward the treeline of the island, Bayman cursed Leon good-naturedly. The old fart had chosen to purchase some little nameless island in the middle of the Mediterranean and live out his retirement there. Bayman came upon Leon chopping firewood, an assault rifle propped up against the stump he was using. Bayman looked down, found the largest branch underfoot he could see, and stepped on it. The crack echoed through the woods like a gunshot. Leon looked back calmly in Bayman's direction, a smirk across his face.

"You're as quiet as ever, Nikolai." Bayman returned the grin, and the jibe.

"I see you're as strong on your guard as you used to be, old man." The two men stood there, still for a few seconds, until, by some unspoken cue, they sprung into action, both whipping out guns and pointing them at the other. The forest fell silent for over a minute as the men stared each other down. Then, with the same spontaneity it began with, the men lowered the weapons, laughing heartily. The two men met, shaking hands like old friends.

"You're losing it, old man. Good thing that wasn't for real." Bayman patted Leon on the back as the two ambled back to Leon's cabin. Once inside, Leon tossed himself into a hammock and turned to address Bayman.

"So, Nikolai, I take it there's a good reason you've dropped by with more guns than usual?" Bayman walked over to a wooden chair, knocking over several terracotta pots. Ignoring Leon's wounded noises, Bayman planted himself in the chair and explained what had happened in Sicily.

When Bayman had finished his tale, Leon leaned back even further in his hammock.

"So, you mean to tell me that, because you refused to mow down innocent civilians to provide a distraction for your country's theft of a nuclear warhead, you are now a fugitive from your own homeland?" Bayman nodded dramatically. A grin spread across Leon's head. Weaving his fingers together behind his head, he continued in a mocking tone.

"Oh, Nikolai…Don't they teach you youngsters anymore? Always listen to what your motherland says." Leaning forward, Leon continued, all humor gone from his face. "When do we leave?"

The Munich Metro City Bus whizzed by the curb, splashing water across the sidewalk and almost running over a pedestrian. Stepping back barely in time, Lei Fang waved apologetically to the irate bus driver as he sped along the crowded streets. All about her, Munich loomed impassively, cold mirrored skyscrapers reflecting the evening sun down into its paved arteries. It was hard to believe that for an entire semester she had called this place home. But the semester ended today. Tomorrow, Lei Fang would board a plane back to China, and go back to normal life with her family. But first, the event she had been waiting for since she bought the ticket over a month ago.

_"Trust me. German Opera is not the old, stuffy music you would expect. You should go see one while in Germany." Lei Fang's father peered over her shoulder inquisitively as she made reservations online. Obligingly, Lei Fang typed in the keywords, tossing a retort back over her shoulder._

_"If it's so popular, wouldn't they be sold out on such short notice?" Much to her satisfaction, only one result showed up on the screen. Her father leaned in beside her, scrutinizing the information. He straightened again, whistling._

_"Lei Fang, take that ticket before someone else does. Balcony seating for a Helena Douglas production of _Die Zauberflote_ is not something you'll find every day." Lei Fang clicked on the link as a note sounded in her memory. That name sounded familiar._

Another horn sounded, startling Lei Fang. She jumped back just barely in time to not be hit by another car zooming by. Looking up at the nearest clock, Lei Fang picked up the pace of her walk. It was only two hours before the curtain opened.

"Please show me your ticket stub, sir." Bayman absently nodded in the direction of the ticket attendant, who gestured patiently with the UPC gun. After having his ticket punched, Bayman tucked it back into his tuxedo pocket and filtered through the crowd to his seat. Settling into the wooden chair, Bayman surreptitiously tucked the earbud into his ear. A flesh-colored microphone attached to his throat completed the other half of the comm headset.

"Leon, I'm in position. Respond." Leon's sullen affirmation came through loud and clear on the microphone. Bayman chuckled. Leon was just bitter he had to provide cover fire.

_"I checked out the Opera House. There's an unused cargo bay we can use to get in through the back without tickets and work backstage." Ryu reported calmly to Bayman, clad in a tacky flannel suit. Rubbing his hands on his golf shorts uneasily, Bayman checked around to make sure they weren't being watched. Too late. A nerdy-looking German, typing on his laptop, hastily looked away as Bayman's face passed in his direction. Returning his attention to his comrades, Bayman continued in a conversational tone of voice._

_"We're being watched. The intellectual German behind Leon with a laptop." Ryu sneezed violently, his hand flying up to his face, and the German slumped forward as if he had just fallen asleep. Both Leon and Bayman gave admiring looks to the ninja, who coolly produced a single pin. Bayman continued on._

_"So we'll need one man on the outside to tail the agents as they come in and report their positions to the other two inside the Opera House. Ryu's the least likely to be found." Ryu gave a dismissive snort._

_"Your mention of failure is insulting. I will be that man." Bayman turned to Leon to discuss the next position._

_"We'll need one man in the orchestra audience who can see the most exits at once easily." Leon continued to stare quizzically at Bayman._

_"There will also need to be one man suspended above the lights to provide cover for the man in the orchestra seating." Leon blinked and nodded, satisfied. Bayman continued again, inwardly bracing for the coming storm._

_"I'll take the Orchestra seat. I haven't seen Mozart in god knows how many years." Leon shook his head sadly._

_"If you can't keep your attention where it belongs, I'm placing you up top." Bayman dismissed the Italian's idea with a shake of his head._

_"Nonsense, Leon. You're retired. You've had your chances to see Mozart. Now just don't get me killed, all right?"_

Ryu's voice sneaked in over the headset.

"I'm currently patrolling the second story. Will maintain radio silence until enemy contact." Leon's confirmation was the last transmission. Checking the various sidearms stowed away in his tuxedo, Bayman relaxed in his seat. All that was left was the waiting.

Lei Fang paced the unfamiliar halls of the upper stories, feeling very out of place. Not only was she lost, but her high heels were too unpractical for the steep stairs of the centuries-old Opera House. Rounding another corridor, she saw an elevator. With any luck, this lift would either bring her to her seat, or to someone who could help her find her way. Trying not to stumble, Lei Fang stopped at the elevator door and pressed "up".

Helena Douglas peered at her reflection in the elevator mirror as it trundled upward, pulling out a mysteriously stored lipstick and touching up. Another boring night at the Opera. Gone were the days when she could count on the excitement of _earning _a lead role. Now, ever since she had blown open the world of Professional Opera, everything was guaranteed. French tabloids frothed at the mouth at her talent and skill.

_Mlle. Douglas sings with the technical skill and timbre of a soprano twice_ _her age, but still retains the passion of a young soprano!_

_France's latest great contribution to Opera is the coloratura Mlle. Douglas!_

While the attention was nice, the endless stream of toadies was becoming irritating. _Mother would have known how to deal with them. Or father…_Bless their souls, her beloved parents were no longer on this world. And perhaps she would soon join them. Helena began to feel in her stomach a bitter pit, a pit she had felt twice. Once, at the Great Opera in Paris the night her mother died. And once again, the day she learned that her father had been assassinated. As her vision began to blur, Helena sunk deeper and deeper into her personal morass of anguish. Only the soft rocking of the elevator as it came to a stop was able to bring her out of her reverie. Helena turned, curious to find who had the gall to stop her on her way to the dressing room.

A beautiful young chinese woman in evening wear slunk into the elevator, teetering on high heels. Eyeing her up and down, Helena was not surprised when the woman awkwardly raised a hand and mumbled "Hi."

Lei Fang was amazed at the speed at which the elevator door opened. Clearly, her luck had not entirely run out. She stepped into the lush interior of the elevator reverently. Looking over, she noticed a companion. A strikingly beautiful blonde woman in a waistcoat and tights looked back, just as surprised to see her. Lei Fang awkwardly raised her hand waved as she greeted the stranger. Her only response was a haughty snort from the blonde as she resumed primping.

"So, I hear the Opera's going to be something to see tonight." This time, the blonde's snort contained a great load of disdain and contempt. Lei Fang sighed to herself and mentally clouted her dense skull. Of course everyone else who would be going to an Opera would know all about it. She was looking like a fool. Switching tack, Lei Fang tried to resurrect the conversation.

"I've heard word that Helena Douglas is going to be leaving the country after this performance. You know how much those sopranos value themselves. It must be that attempt on her life. I've also heard she's going to retire from the international stage." This time, the blonde seemed genuinely interested. Lei Fang inwardly cheered herself. Raising one eyebrow regally, the blonde gave Lei Fang her full attention.

"And where did you hear that rumor? It sounds so elaborate and improbable to be true." Mind racing, Lei Fang sought more of what her father told her. It would be horrible to fall flat again, after catching the interest of an experienced opera-goer.

"I have a friend who has followed Helena Douglas's career since she first performed nationally, in Marseilles four years ago." Lei Fang inwardly sighed with relief as the blonde's eyebrows raised admiringly. The blonde unfolded her arms and went over to the glass wall of the elevator, watching Munich unfold beneath her. Without turning her head, the blonde responded to Lei Fang.

"So what makes your friend think that Mlle. Douglas is going to retire?" Heart racing, Lei Fang searched the deepest crevices of her mind for a good reason. No one at home would believe this. Here she was, chatting with a veteran opera-goer like it was nothing. Finally, a reason came to her head.

"Nothing changes people like losing someone dear to them. I bet when both her parents were killed, she decided to fade out of Opera before someone got her too." The blonde made no response, only stared out at the Munich cityline impassively. After a second, Lei Fang heard a sniffle. Coming over to the blonde's side, Lei Fang peered at her face. Tears were streaming down the woman's face and she was whispering under her breath.

"_Mother…why…_" Lei Fang stared at the weepingblonde, all the pieces coming together.

"You're…no way…" Helena Douglas turned to face her, eyes red. The blonde advanced threateningly towards Lei Fang, forcing her towards the corner of the elevator.

"You're right. I am Helena Douglas. However, you're not going to report to anyone tonight!" Helena brought her hands up, and sent a fluid hand speeding lethally at Lei Fang.

Helena coldly eyed the young chinese woman as they circled in the elevator. It was tight quarters for her Pi Qua Quan technique, but she was confident that she'd be able to build enough momentum to finish the fight before the elevator stopped at her dressing room floor. She'd been able to keep few things secret from the public: the location of her dressing room was one of them. However, the girl was showing more skill than she had anticipated. Smoothly stepping out of the way of Helena's fluid downward strikes, the girl reached out and tugged on Helena's outstretched wrist, pulling the frenchwoman off balance. Following up, the girl placed a high-heeled shoe on the nape of Helena's neck and pushed. Helena staggered into the far wall, barely able to catch herself with her hands against the wall. Turning furiously, Helena faced the girl across the elevator and fought to keep her temper. The girl was obviously terrified.

"Please stop! What are you doing? Why are you trying to kill me?" Helena snorted with disgust. Whoever wanted her dead, they apparently didn't respect her much, sending amateurs after her. Squaring herself, Helena charged again.

"Who sent you here? Why do they want me dead? Why are you after me?" Helena punctuated each word with a fluid slice of her hands. Almost lethargically, the girl bent out of the way of each strike, each evasion putting more space between her and Helena's vengeful hands. Finally, as the wall loomed nearer, Helena launched a vicious side kick. The chinese girl leaned backward at an angle Helena thought impossible in high heels, then snatched the leg as it passed over her. One of the chinese girl's legs snaked out and swept Helena's remaining leg off balance. As gravity took hold, Helena felt her kicking leg being rotated over her, and the ground came into view. As Helena began to plummet belly-first to the floor, the chinese girl grabbed her arms and pinned them up against her back. Helena lay facedown on the floor, the chinese girl astride her back and pinning both arms with her knees. Helena felt slender hands tap her on her throat and the back of her skull. With a shudder, Helena recognized the ideal gripping points to break someone's neck. Then she felt a breath on her neck.

"I came here to watch you perform, not kill you." The chinese girl got up and walked to the door as the elevator came to a halt. As the doors opened, she turned back to Helena.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find my seat." As the chinese girl walked into the hallway, Helena got to her feet and raised an arm apologetically.

"Actually, I'd like to apologize for my dreadfully uncouth behavior back there in the elevator. I have a private box reserved for my friends. If you would like, you may sit there during the show." Lei Fang stopped and looked back. Helena majestically stepped out of the elevator and gestured imperiously toward her dressing room.

"I will ring for a man to bring you to the box before the opening of the curtain. In the mean time, I am feeling rather conversational at the moment. If you would join me?" Lei Fang grinned and followed after the diva, almost tripping on the carpet again.

The Opera House security guard walked along the carpeted hallways, one hand on his gun. Silently, Ryu mirrored his movements on the ceiling above. Checking every doorway, examining every inch of the walls, the guard looked everywhere except directly above him. Clinging to the ceiling like a spider, Ryu peered behind him and ahead, then opened himself up to the _ki_ flowing around him. Around him, hundreds of feeble auras rested in the Opera house, punctuated by three powerful auras. One, in the orchestra seating, he recognized as Bayman's. One aura, floating high above the rest, was easily pinpointed as Leon's. And a mysterious female aura sat close to the stage. Ryu returned his senses to the hallways just in time to detect a presence rounding the corridor. Cursing inwardly, he vanished just as a concerned voice called out, "Sergei, above you!"

The security guard pulled out his gun, looking up in the space where Ryu had just lurked, then turned to his comrade, irritated.

"That's not very funny, Jan. This is serious stuff." The other security guard stared up at the spot on the ceiling where Ryu had been with a dismayed look on his face.

"No, Sergei, I swear there was someone there. It must have been a ninja or something." Sergei looked at his companion with a mix of disbelief, derision, and utter confusion. From his hiding place inside a nearby air duct, Ryu watched the scene with a feeling of increasing hilarity. Here in the Occident, no one ever dealt with ninja. It was like tricking children. Finally, the two guards stopped their search of the area and began patrolling again. Before they had moved two steps, the corridor turned alive with silenced submachine-gun fire. Turning to face the new threat, Sergei was barely able to aim his handgun before his head exploded from a hollow-point hit. His comrade Jan took a bullet to both legs and the throat and collapsed beside him.

From inside the duct, Ryu heard the sound of heavy boots advancing down the hallway. A squad of black-clad men and women arrived around the dead guards, firing insurance rounds into the corpses to make sure. Ryu recognized these agents as from the same group that attacked his antique shop. Waiting for the group to pass along the hallway, Ryu whispered three words into his headset and slipped out into the hallway.

"Enemy forces sighted."

The hunt was on.

"Mademoiselle Douglas? Ten minutes to opening." Helena nodded acknowledgement to the stage hand, then stepped further backstage to mute the murmuring of the crowd. The other stage hands respectfully stepped aside as she searched for a place to collect her thoughts. However, as she sat down, Helena's foot slipped, and she almost fell out of the seat. A stage hand rushed over, concern written across his face.

"Mademoiselle Douglas? Are you all right?" Helena waved away the man, assuring him she was all right, and had not suffered any injury. However, she was less able to convince herself. The foreboding pit in her stomach had disappeared after the incident with that chinese girl Lei Fang, but had just returned, twice as strong.

From his perch high above the seats, Leon eased the scoped rifle into its harness and scanned the crowd. Spotting Bayman in his seat, Leon panned to the different exits. As if on cue, the security guards stationed at the doorways checked their headsets, then surreptitiously left the theatre, slipping firearms out of their holsters. Smiling to himself, Leon muttered into his headset.

"Hayabusa, the house security force has been alerted. Be on your guard." The ninja's response was full of confidence.

"No one will know I am here." Leon shifted his rifle to a more comfortable position, then began the methodical process of scanning the theatre for the familiar black harnesses. Below him, he heard the pit orchestra begin the introduction.

Taking a deep breath, Leon whispered to himself.

"It's on now."

End Chapter 1

-I apologize if the changes in character narration are hard to find. Apparently, there's some error in translation between my Microsoft word and the website.

-I usually put some author insight here that provides both humor and a deep moral insight into today's world, but I couldn't think of anything, so I decided to give you a pair of empty quotation marks.

""

Next chapter I'll put something funny in them.

-Tune in next chapter, when this fanfiction labeled "Action/Adventure" actually lives up to its description!

-Again, please R&R! I like feedback! I also like people sucking up to me! Just remember, I'll flame back!


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